


Words Inside You

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Best Friends, Boys Kissing, Campfires, Camping, Clothed Sex, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Confessions, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Insecurity, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Snogging, Spooning, Teen Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:31:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5276753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a school camp, Kian makes a confession that Mark has been holding inside himself for too long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Inside You

It's dark. Darker than it usually is, out here in the middle of the countryside. The shrill of crickets is about the only noise. That, and the occasional snort or grunt of one of the other boys sleeping in the tents behind him.

The fire has died ages ago, and Mark stirs the ashes with a stick, tracing shapes. Crosses. Stars. A heart.

The letter K. Then an I. Then an A.

He freezes when he hears noise behind him, sweeps the stick through everything to erase the evidence, brushed away as quickly as he can. He's used to it. Dropping a face into place. Hiding as an automatic reaction. It hurts a bit, how easy it's all become, but there isn't really much of a choice. Not yet.

Maybe when he's eighteen, when high school's over and he's moved away from small town familiarity and attitudes and he can actually figure out who else he is apart from just his sexuality. When he knows exactly what he wants and who he can trust... maybe then. When he can handle something he knows is not like to be easy regardless of how ready he is.

But not now. Not sitting on an all-boys camping trip, feeling startlingly alone despite all the company. Just wishing...

The rip of a zipper, the ripple of canvas. Mark carefully doesn't look, even though he already knows the sound of Kian's breath. Of his steps. Of...

“You still up?”

“Yeah. Couldn't sleep.” He whispers back. Kian sinks down on the log next to him, feet making more patterns in the ashes as he gets comfortable. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. Couldn't sleep either.” Kian lets out a sigh, then a companionable silence settles. 's always been easy like this, not having to talk. A bit of a relief, considering what every part of Mark is always screaming to say. He draws a line in the ashes, then another. Before long there are four of them, then a space, then another seven.

“It's a movie.” He explains. Kian glances over, smiles when he realises what's going on.

“A.”

“Nope.” He draws the upright of the gallows.

They play for a while. There's a head drawn in the hangman's noose before Kian gets it.

“Pulp Fiction.”

“Yeah.” He doesn't bother to draw the last few letters in, just erases it all with the stick, swirling and scraping until it's back to the mess it was before. “Your turn.” He urges. Kian nods, beginning to look for his own stick.

The game continues quietly, both of them whispering to avoid waking the others or the teacher. The day was nice, fishing in the lake and having a bit of a muckaround, ostensibly doing something for their biology class. Mark has a booklet in his pack with some scribbles on it about wildlife and soil temperature and shit, but it's mostly just been a good opportunity to get away from his parents, who seem to think that being supportive seems to involve asking uncomfortable questions and buying him books with way too many pictures. He suppose he appreciates it, but he doesn't like the idea that this is something that defines him now. Doesn't want to spill the secret in case that's all he is. It's too...

“Dracula.” He guesses. Kian nods, filling in the rest of the letters. “Kian?”

“Yeah.” Blue eyes barely pick up the starlight. He's been in love with Kian since he was fourteen. It had been a bit frightening, and then something he wanted badly to go away. Now it's just something he's used to carrying around, like the extra weight he can't quite shift.

“Do you remember when we went to the carnival with your parents?”

“Yeah.” Kian nods. “Last year. You threw up on the Teacups.”

“That was you.”

“I think you're remembering it wrong.” Kian grimaces, making Mark chuckle. “I think you ate too much candy floss and probably shouldn't have had that second ice-cream after the rollercoaster.”

“It was a pretty bad idea.” Mark agrees, gets a playful elbow in the side. Kian begins to draw random lines in the ashes, a smile playing over his mouth. Loops and curls. Mark watches, leaning his chin in one hand.

“What's your point?”

“No point. Just had a good day.” He swallows, feeling his cheeks heat up. Here he is, rambling on about pointless shit, and he has no idea what he wants to say. Just wants that moment of feeling Kian's hand reach out in the haunted house and grab his wrist, both of them squealing at the skeleton that had suddenly lurched out of the shadows. “Can't believe school's almost over.”  
  
“We've still got six months.” Kian points out. Mark nods. Each day feels like years, has done for longer than he can remember. “I can't wait. Everything's going to be different.”

“Yeah.” He reaches out with his own stick, beginning to draw a spiral. From the inside out, getting wider and wider. “I keep thinking, though... what if it's not? What if I get out there and everything that's shit now is still shit. If... I'm not ready, or...” His cheeks get hotter. He sounds like a fucking idiot.

“I know.” Kian breathes. “I feel like maybe... I'm not really me yet. I will be, one day, and part of me wonders... what if I don't like who it turns out I am? If I'm not...” He bites his lip

“You'll be fine. You're great.” What he wants to say is that Kian is perfect. The only person he's ever trusted, who's always had his back and always seems to know just what to say. That his smile lights up Mark's whole world.

“How do you know?” Kian says it quietly, the crickets almost drowning him out. “I never tell people who I am. Even my parents don't know.”

“Who are you, then?”

Kian doesn't reply. Mark doesn't push, feels the silence start to collapse back in again, sagging down like the canvas on their cheap tent.

“Want to go for a walk?”

“We're not supposed to.” Yes. He does. He really does. “As long as we don't get caught.” Kian nods, standing up, and a hand reaches out. Mark takes it. Skin on skin. Warm. It's a rush, small and guilty and so overwhelming he wants to cry. When he stands he doesn't want to let go.

The path is darker than the camp, the moon disappeared behind the trees. By the time they stagger out into the clearing bordering the lake he's almost blind, guiding himself by the sound of Kian's footsteps, sure and steady in the darkness. Kian knows where he wants to go. Mark's never been more unsure.

When they sink down on a large rock he can feel body heat against his side. He turns to look at Kian, wishing he has something to say.

“How's things going with Anna?”

“Anna.” Kian snorts. They've only been going out for a couple of weeks. It's something Mark has stopped bothering to get upset about, even though it cuts to the bone every time Kian goes out with a girl, talks about a girl. He doesn't have the energy. “No, that's over.”

“Sorry.”

“It's fine.” Kian shrugs. “Wasn't my type.”

“Oh.” Mark bites his lip. “How come?”

“Just... wasn't.” Kian leans back, and his side is suddenly hot against Mark's. “She was pretty, and nice, and funny and stuff, but...” He shakes his head. “You know when you can just tell? That even if the right one never comes along, this is definitely not it.”

“Yeah.” Mark nods. “Who's the right one, then?”

“Someone who'll probably never want me back.” Kian chuckled. “Too much to hope, right?”

“I don't know. Have you asked?”

“No. Not the best idea.” Kian tilts back a little more, looking up at the stars. Mark does as well, until they're both lying on top of the huge flat rock, feet dangling off the end. “Mark? Can I talk to you about something? Something big?” Mark nods.

“Course. Yeah.” Kian is his friend. Of course he can. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Or... maybe. Not so much wrong as...” He sighs, sounds heavy and lost. “I think... oh Jesus.” His voice is trembling a little, cracks a little on the words. “I think I like boys.”

It rings out. Hard and sudden in the moonlight. Mark feels his heart thud into his throat, a thrumming pulse that makes him dizzy.

Kian is...

“Oh...” He manages. “Okay.”

“You don't mind?”

“No. Well. No.” He takes in a deep breath. “It's fine. You're...” He looks at an averted face, at eyes turned up to the stars. “So, you're...”

“I don't know!” Kian groans. “I don't fucking know. I just... there's a boy and I think... maybe all these girls weren't enough because... because maybe I don't want any of them. Maybe I want _him_ , because when we're together it's a hundred times better. It feels like...”

Mark swallows hard, feels like he's about to burst into tears. Kian looks about the same, his eyes shining, bottom lip trembling, and despite everything Kian is still his best friend, so he reaches out and catches up a shaking hand. Squeezes. Feels it squeeze back.

“It's okay.” He manages. Hears Kian gulp, then let out a soft sob. “It's fine. Don't worry.” He rolls onto his side, pulls Kian into a hug, feels tears against his throat. “What's wrong?”

“Sorry, just... I feel like I've been keeping it locked up for so long and...” He exhales slowly, a slightly hysterical laugh carried on the breath. Mark finds himself snorting a laugh. Because this is fucking ridiculous. “God, I really didn't think it'd go this well.”

“What, telling me?”

“Yeah.” Kian nods. “I... I haven't told anyone else.”

The soft admission makes Mark want to cry.

“Me either.” He admits, though it's an effort to get the words out. He wants to take them back as soon as they're said, knows he can't. “I told my parents, but...” Kian pulls back, eyes staring up in shock.

“You're...”

“Yeah.” He admits. God, and that's a fucking weight off. He can just about feel himself sagging into the rock, as though it's a mattress rather than solid limestone. Kian is still staring at him. “I erm... I wasn't going to say anything. Not until school's over.”

“Me either.” Kian flushes pink. “God. Okay.” He bites his lip. “Now I'm sort of pissed off.”

“Why?”

“Because I've been feeling like a freak all this time and we could have had this fucking conversation ages ago. You arsehole.”

“Why's it my fault?” Mark finds himself laughing. Kian does too. And then it's them again. He and Kian, best friends, just fucking about on a school trip and trying not to get caught. “You could have said.”

“Why me?”

“Why me?” Mark counters. Kian laughs, sitting up. Mark does too. He reaches out, draping an arm around his friends shoulders and feeling how tense he is, practically vibrating with nervous energy. “We're such fucking cowards.”

“I know.” Kian rolls his eyes. “Can't believe it was that easy.”

“I know.” Mark sighs, feels his heart jolt. He knows what he's about to do, but even though it's stupid apparently it's the night for confessions, and he's certainly not going to have the guts again. “Kian?” Kian nods, still looking a bit distracted by the recent revelations. “I... I fancy you.” He admits. Blue eyes widen.

“Oh. Erm...” The swallow is almost audible, the click of a tense jaw. “Really?”

“...yeah.” This was a terrible idea. Fuck. Kian is looking pallid, his face still. “So that's... that.”

“Fuck.” Kian sounds lost. “I...” He stands. Mark watches, thinking he's about to run away. Or throw a punch. “Fuck.” Hands run through hair as he begins to pace. “Jesus.”

“I'm sorry. We can forget it.” As disaster control it's not the best strategy, but there's not much else he can do apart from hit Kian with a rock and hope he's forgotten by the time he wakes up.

“No. It's... fine. Erm...” Kian pauses, looks up at Mark. “You're my best friend.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” He wants to cry. Wants the world to swallow him up. Wants to find out whoever the boy Kian loves is and tell him that if he ever hurts Kian Mark will hunt him down and cut the skin off his face, an inch at a time. Because Kian deserves everything, even if Mark can't be the one to provide it.

“You fancy me.”

“Yeah.” Mark nods. “Or... or no. If you want it can be no. Sorry.”

“You don't fancy me?”

“I... do.” He says it carefully. Kian stops pacing to stare at him. “I'm...” Fuck it, it's confession night. “I'm in love with you.” He blurts. “I'm sorry. I won't let it affect...”

“In love with me.” Kian echoes it, his voice cracking. Mark looks away. When he looks back up Kian is very close, and when he tries to turn away fingers catch his chin to hold him still.

“Ki...”

He can't react when lips brush his, doesn't now how to, but oh... soft and dry and pressing just so carefully. His own mouth drops open in pure surprise just as Kian pulls away.

“You're not going to kiss me back, dickhead?”

His fingers are yanking Kian toward him in a moment, tangled in blonde hair while a mouth opens, sliding. It's a terrible kiss. Clumsy, awkward. A tooth cuts into his lip. His nose gets squashed. Kian makes a gasp of surprise, then when it relaxes a little they both sink into it properly, settling slowly until it flows like liquid, lips parting and everything aligning just right until he hears a soft moan, feels fingers curl in his nape.

“Oh.” Kian murmurs when it ends. Mark echoes it. Swallows.

“Can... we try that again?” He asks. Kian giggles, looking totally fucking adorable.

“I think we'd better.”

This one is better. Fuck, is it better. Mark can't say he's had a hell of a lot of experience with kissing, tends to overthink it and get paranoid so it never feels quite natural, but this... feeling Kian's tongue catch his up, feeling large, warm hands framing his face, thick fingers a bit calloused and this is _right._ Boys are right. _Kian_ is right. And...

“I'm in love with you.” Kian murmurs. Mark feels something dark and frightened in himself rip itself free with a jolt and disappear, jerking his heart into his throat as it does. He wants to cry, a bit. Wants Kian.

His hand settles clumsily on the curve of his friend's hip. Solid and firm, pushing into his touch a little as Kian tilts his head and goes _deeper_ and _fuck..._

He swallows hard as the kiss parts. Kian's eyes are darker, and it's not because the moon's gone behind a cloud. Mark's whole body is singing. Wanting. Fucking _yearning_. And oh, Kian's hands are just...

“I...” One slides down his neck while a gaze lock steadily to his. “Mark.”

His name sounds perfect on Kian's tongue. He whispers Kian's back, watches his friend shudder slightly, eyes falling closed for the barest second before locking with his again.

“You're my best friend.” Kian declares. Mark nods, watching carefully while Kian begins to chew his lip, which is already a bit swollen and red from the snogging. “Seeing you every day is my favourite thing.” It's quiet, his cheeks going a little pink. Mark finds himself smiling. Cocky, confident Kian and he's blushing. Over Mark.

“Sometimes I get to school early just so I can go to the bathroom and make sure I look okay before you get there.” He admits.

“Really?” Fingers are still tracing the curve of his jaw. It's heaven. His hands are still on Kian's waist. “You always look perfect.” Kian murmurs. “I always think so, anyway.” Silence settles, both of them looking at each other, waiting for the next move. Mark's hand slides a little higher, feeling Kian flinch when ribs heave slightly under Mark's fingers.

“Sorry.” He goes to snatch his hand back, but Kian shakes his head.

“Stay.” Lips brush his again. So soft. He's addicted to it already. “Considering what I always want to do to you, this is practically PG.” There's a soft snicker. Mark echoes it.

“What do you always want to do?"

“There's a big question.” Kian's voice is soft and rough. “I have the filthiest dreams about you. You have no idea.”

“Yeah?” A hot thrill stalks through him. In love with Kian and... and sex are two distinctly different things, though he can't say he hasn't thought about it. What it would be like. Kian naked and arching against him, feeling supple skin under his hands, what Kian would sound like when...

“I...” Kian swallows. They both do. Mark doesn't know when he leaned in, but Kian's breath is puffing against his mouth and dark eyes are locked with his. “I think about what... it would be like. Being with you.” His eyes flit away. He looks small and inexperienced. Mark feels the same. He tries to kiss it away, feels arms wind around his shoulders, pulling them together.

“Me too.” He admits. “I want to...” His hand is going lower. He doesn't know when that happened, but Kian lets out something not unlike a moan and pushes into it. Mark feels sensitive, overwhelmed. Like one touch might kill him. “God, I want to.”

“Yes.” Lips catch his again. Hard this time. Hungry. Mark pulls him in closer, feels legs shift in until they're between his thighs, shuffles forward so the damn rock isn't in the way. But at least sitting down there's no height difference. Kian is _so warm_.

One hand fumbles at his jeans, his hips rising into it before he can think. God yes. Yes. Mouths tilting further, Kian just about devouring him. He's making embarrassing keening noises. Can't think about that. Not when he slides his hands lower and feels the curve of Kian's arse fill his palms, feels it sway into his touch while they both groan out loud.

“Fuck yes.” Kian's hand closes and Mark jerks in sudden pleasure, head going back while he bites his lip. “God...” Kian's eyes are almost wild when he looks back. Dark and shining and hot and the hand is fucking _tightening_ , curving around him, sliding up the length trapped against his groin, a hard ridge that he can feel throbbing against Kian's fingers.

“Ki...” His hips rise again. Kian hisses. “Please.” He's begging. It's really fucking embarrassing. But oh. Oh oh oh that's...

“So hard.” Kian mumbles. Mark's whine is agreement. Kian looks up, eyes dancing with laughter. “Pretty sure I'm gay.”

“Oh. Good.” Mark laughs. They both giggle, blushing shyness crashing back in. Kian's hand tightens, then loosens, starting a slow, pulsing squeeze. Mark's head drops to a broad shoulder. Can't help it. Too good to cope, eyes fluttering closed while Kian works him gently, his chest moving in pants of anticipation that dampen his lips, wet when they press to Mark's ear.

“Please tell me this isn't going to fuck things up.” Kian whispers. Mark shakes his head. Maybe it will, but god he doesn't want it to _stop_. “I don't want to ruin...”

He catches Kian's mouth again, feels a strangled whimper that might just be his own. Kian's _fingers_...

“Do you want to stop?” He manages to ask, dreading the answer. Kian's forehead leans against his, their gasps mingling between them, and when blue eyes look up he wants to drown in the questioning gaze.

“No.” Kian breathes. Mark jerks, his legs trapping sturdy thighs when Kian presses in harder. His arms tighten around Kian's waist, pulling them flush and when he hears a groan he knows the back of Kian's own hand has been pushed against him, knows it from the way Kian suddenly attacks his mouth, hungry and desperate.

He pushes his own hand between them, wanting to feel it, and when his hand curves to that hard, twitching ridge he thinks maybe this is the most like himself he's ever felt in his life. Which is ridiculous, probably. It's just sex. It's just...

Kian cries out, soft and bitten off, and Mark swallows it, his free hand tightening on Kian's back, other hand beginning to move while Kian rolls hard into it, hips jerking, fingers clawing at the back of Mark's neck.

“I...” Kian sobs it. Buries his face in Mark's neck until hot, wet gasps are painting the sensitive skin of his throat. “I didn't bring any other jeans.” He says. Which at first makes no sense, just this absurd statement, and then Mark realises.

“Shit, me either.” He laughs. Kian giggles, and both of them stop. Stare at each other. Fingers slide up his jaw, soft and reverent, and he thinks he wants to cry.

Kian closes his eyes, reaches down to adjust himself. There's a flush spilling down into the neck of his t-shirt. Mark doesn't think he's ever looked more beautiful, not even when he's been watching in class, staring at the back of Kian's neck. Or hanging out at his house, mucking around in the field behind and sitting together in his bedroom with the guitar. This Kian is concentrated. Honest. Perfect. A kiss touches his mouth.

“Should... should we take off our jeans maybe?”

It's the cutest thing, Kian murmuring it with a knitted brow like he's a small child asking for a sweet. Mark cups his face, thumb stroking over a swollen bottom lip. He's never allowed himself to think of this, to want this as much as he knows he does. A kiss brushes his thumb. Kian is staring at him.

“I want you.” Mark murmurs. Kian looks like he wants to cry. “God, it's been so hard not to want you.”

“It's been torture.” Kian agrees. Mark's eyes flutter shut when a hot mouth sucks his thumb in, closes around it. He feels himself give a warning throb, hard and sudden. And Jesus, at this stage there's not much bloody choice unless he wants to chafe himself raw the whole hike back tomorrow.

“Let's...” He lets go of Kian, shuffles back on the rock. Kian follows. It's not the softest choice, but when he awkwardly lowers his fly Kian looks like he wants to eat him and it's fucking amazing. Nothing like the girls he's gone out with to keep the cover up, all awkwardness and clumsily holding hands, exchanging kisses that feel like a chore. This is basic. The thing that's been fucking _missing._

“Oh... Marky.” Kian breathes it as his hand slips inside, Mark's stomach fluttering in anticipation. When the fingers close he thinks he loses himself for a second, his hips snapping up into the touch while Kian's breaths speed up, harsh and a bit panicked. “Oh fuck.”

“Kian.” He blurts it, hears a moan against his ear, warmth against his side while Kian settles next to him. He rolls onto his side, fumbles at Kian's jeans and fuck fuck fuck that's hot and hard and Jesus Christ this is _not_ the same as feeling it through denim. Not when it's leaking into his hand and Kian is _hard_. Thick and perfect and everything the back of his mind whispers to him is at the core of this when he's making up elaborate, romantic scenarios about snogging and holding and loving and being and fuck... _fucking_.

“Please.” Kian gasps. “Oh god, please, I'm not going to last.”

“You feel...” He catches soft lips again, moves his hand. The response is certainly encouraging. A tongue ploughing into his mouth while the shaft rocks into his grip, Kian fucking himself and the hand on him feels amazing but not as good as Kian responding like this, grinding into him while a hand fists in his hair and the other one tightens.

“Please.” Kian gasps it again. Mark holds him in, feels his own body give a warning jerk. Too close. He feels like it should be something else, their first time. Something romantic and careful and maybe just bloody indoors, but he's certainly not fucking stopping, not when he feels...

“Oh god.” He mutters, eyes squeezing shut in the lights of the release barrelling towards him. “Oh god, Kian...” He sobs, shifts his legs to distract himself. “I... I'm...”

The hand tightens in his hair, their lips forcing together. And there. That's it. Everything focused on the thumb brushing the ridge of the head, the fingers pulsing up his shaft and Kian is _good_ at this, while his own hand gets stupidly clumsy and just tightens because he doesn't know how to do anything else. How to feel anything but Kian crying out into his mouth, himself crying back and...

When he fades back in Kian is rutting against his hand still, eyes open and staring in concentration, lip bitten hard like he's chasing something he doesn't quite want to catch yet. Mark does it for him. Yanks him into another kiss despite the fact that he feels like he's spinning, his hand picking up the stroke again.

Kian comes with a strangled breath of his name. It's perfect. Slick filling his hand, a wet gasp into his neck when Kian clings to him, yelping out his orgasm while Mark's hand keeps moving, not wanting to let go for a second. Not even when Kian's done and it's being batted away with a gasping laugh.

“Ah.” Kian pants. Mark giggles. Kian giggles back, breathless and broken.

“Fuck.” He agrees. Kian nods, smiles. Mark buries his head in a strong chest, feeling fingers carefully stroke his back to the racing beat of Kian's heart against his ear while he tries to figure out where best to wipe the mess off his hand.

They both wash their hands in the water lapping the shore, smirking at each other like they're doing something really naughty. Once the evidence is gone they sit back on the rock in silence, his hand clasping Kian's tight. He thinks he wants to say something but isn't sure what it is. Ask if this is real. If Kian is sure. If it was a mistake. But when he looks over to speak Kian presses a kiss to his mouth and he doesn't want to question any of it, not when an arm wraps around his waist and a head falls to his shoulder.

They creep back into camp as quietly as possible. Nobody seems to have noticed their absence. Kian crawls inside the tent first and for once Mark doesn't try not to check out his arse, gives himself a good long look until Kian laughs, raises an eyebrow, and reaches out a hand, tugging him inside. He thanks god for two-person tents, pulls the zip tight, trying to trap some of the privacy they had at the lake, wishing it could last for ever.

He goes to sleep spooned to Kian's back, pressing amazed kisses to a bowed nape while fingers entwine tightly with his.

“Kian?” He murmurs just before he nods off. Kian doesn't reply. He's already asleep.

 

*

 

Mark wakes to an empty tent, his jeans and shoes in a puddle in the corner, sleeping bag unzipped and draped on top of him. He thinks for a second it was all a dream, and then realises that Kian's is unzipped and underneath them to keep out the cold and his hand is still a bit sticky. It's a nice feeling, even if Kian isn't here. Something to remember, that makes him smile when he thinks of it.

When he staggers from the tent, shoes in one hand, Kian is stood near the fire with some of the other boys, cooking up breakfast.

“Morning.”

“Hey.” Mark yawns. “How long has everyone been up?”

“A while. I tried to wake you, but...” Kian shrugs, smiling. Mark smiles back, tries not to look too obvious, though none of the others are paying attention. “Sausage?”

“Oh god, yeah.” He grabs a slice of bread off the pile, holds it out. Fingers brush the back of his hand as Kian carefully deposits it into the bread. He takes an enormous bite. He's starving all of a sudden. Everything tastes amazing. Even the burnt bits.

They pack up camp after breakfast, get everything sorted into backpacks. Mark helps Kian knot his sleeping bag onto his pack, and they exchange careful glances, touching whenever they can.

When they move on Kian realises he's forgotten something, asks if he can go back. Mark offers to go with him of course, and they head back down the path to the campfire. They've not been walking more than a minute so it doesn't take long. It looks funny in the dawn light. Abandoned and flat. A hand slides into his.

“What did you forget?”

“This.” A hand hooks his neck just before Kian kisses him. Slow and careful, a tongue flickering forward to play with his for the barest moment. “Mm.” Kian mutters when they part. Mark gulps.

“Mm.” He echoes. He feels hot. Hotter when the hand tightens. Then it lets go and Kian is bending to pick up a stick. He watches as the other boy draws a dash, then four more, then three. Mark stares at it for a second, not sure what's going on.

“It's a phrase.” Kian announces helpfully. Mark squints, trying to figure out what he's getting at.

Then it dawns.

“I love you.” Mark says softly. Kian smiles, taking his hand again. Mark squeezes. Perfect. Fitting together so well he doesn't know why he's denied himself this long.

“I love you too.” Kian chuckles, tugging him back down the path.

 


End file.
